


and if you say you’re okay, I’m gonna heal you anyway

by thotsandfeelings



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thotsandfeelings/pseuds/thotsandfeelings
Summary: He does a double take at the text from Annabeth.Donna’s down.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 22
Kudos: 118





	and if you say you’re okay, I’m gonna heal you anyway

Josh’s phone buzzes on his desk and he vaguely looks at it while Lou is giving him a recap on an oil spill in the Gulf. His eyes bug out of his head when he does a double take at the text from Annabeth. 

_Donna’s down._

He doesn’t even pause Lou, just picks up his phone and calls Annabeth immediately. When it goes to voicemail, his blood pressure spikes and he stands up quickly, already dialing Donna’s number next. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lou asks, her eyes drawing together. 

“Bev!” he shouts and his assistant sticks her head in the door. “Who’s on the First Lady’s detail for Detroit?

“Michael, Brian, um… Madison took over for Stewart, I think—“

“Tell Dylan to call them. I want eyes on Donna immediately.”

“Josh, what is going on?” Lou asks again, standing and following him out of his office and into the Oval. 

“Mr. President,” he asks, his phone still to his ear as he tries Donna and Annabeth over and over again. 

“Josh, I’m a little busy—“

“Have you heard from the First Lady lately?”

“No. Why? What are you—“

“I don’t _know_!” he explodes. “Damn it! Answer your goddamn phone!” he shouts at his Blackberry and now Santos is standing too and ushering the Ambassador from wherever out of his office. “All she said was ‘Donna’s down’ and now nobody is answering their motherfu—“

“ _Calm down,_ ” Lou says and she looks at the President. 

“Josh, I’m sure everything’s fine,” he tries to reassure, but he’s absorbing Josh’s tension and he goes to the agent posted at the door anyway to get in contact with the First Lady.

An agent comes in through the door to Josh’s office. “Sir, Mrs. Lyman’s on the phone.”

“I don’t need to talk to my mother, I need to talk to my _wife._ ” He blinks as the agent stares at him. Six months into marriage and he’s still not used to it. “You meant Mrs. Lyman as _in_ my wife, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put her through to my office,” he orders, marching quickly out of the Oval. He picks up the phone and presses the button for line one. “Donna? Talk to me. Are you okay? What the hell is going on?” 

“I’m fine, honey,” she says, her voice strong through the phone, and Josh lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and collapses in his chair. “Honestly, this is ridiculous. I slipped on some ice and busted my ass in front of the entire rope line, but I’m fine. You can stop spazzing and clogging up the secret service’s phone lines, alright? My tailbone and pride are bruised, but that’s it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, his brow still furrowed in concern. “You didn’t hit your head or anything? The doctor checked your pupils with the little flashlight?”

She laughs in his ear and he feels more pressure dissolve from his chest. “Josh, do you even know what they check for when they’re doing that?”

“No, but it seems important I ask.”

He can sense her eye roll through the phone and it makes him feel better. “Yes, they checked my pupils and I didn’t hit my head. I’m okay. I promise.”

“Okay,” he says, still weary. “Tell Annabeth that I will be having words. I was about to deploy Michigan’s National Guard.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I told her not to bother you. It was really no big deal, babe, I swear. You’ll see for yourself in a few hours.”

“You’re on the plane?”

“We’re about to take off here soon.”

“Good,” he says, nodding his head. “That’s good.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as the anxiety seeps out of him at her reassurances. “I’m gonna meet you on the tarmac.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“It’s already done.”

She smiles, secretly grateful. “Okay.” They stay on the phone in silence for a beat until the captain’s voice trickles over the speaker. “I gotta go. I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?”

“You’re _sure_ you’re alright to fly?”

“Josh,” she groans. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.”

“‘Kay, well...” he grins and lowers his voice. “I still plan on kissing it better.”

She hums. “I look forward to your thorough exam, Dr. Lyman.”

“Get that bruised ass home.”

“As fast as I can,” she promises. “Take a deep breath. I’m okay.”

Josh closes his eyes and does as she says, exhaling heavily in her ear. “I love you,” he murmurs. 

“I know you do. I’ll see you very soon.”

She ends the call and he runs his hands over his face for a moment before opening his eyes again to find Lou and the President looking at him. 

“False alarm. Everything’s fine,” he says and grabs the memo from earlier on his desk. “What’s goin’ on in the Gulf?”

The President just shakes his head before going back into the Oval and shutting the door and Lou continues to stare at him. “You’re certifiable,” she states before sitting back down and picking up where they left off. 

* * *

Josh is waiting for her as soon as they de-board the plane, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously. He grabs her hand and helps her down the last couple steps before hauling her to him. She laughs into his shoulder, exasperated, but also happy to see him despite his neurotic tendencies. 

“How ya feelin’?” he murmurs in her ear and he leans back to look her over, poking and prodding at her head and shoulders until she swats his hands away and wraps him up in another hug. 

“I’m okay.”

He kisses her temple and she breaks the hug to grab his face with both hands, kissing him firmly on the mouth. 

“Donna, you forgot your butt donut,” Annabeth says as she comes down the stairs, holding the little inflatable circular tube, and Josh grows stern. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he accuses and Donna rolls her eyes. “You don’t text someone that their spouse is ‘down’ and then not answer your phone for immediate follow up questions.”

“Sorry,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. “I had to handle the rope line since your clumsy mistress took herself out.” Annabeth grins devilishly. “You should’ve seen her, Josh. Went down like a sack of potatoes.”

“Like Bambi on the frozen lake,” Helen chimes in, chuckling softly to herself as she makes her way to the motorcade. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Donna says, stopping the conversation from embarrassing her any farther. She tugs on Josh to get him moving. “Annabeth, run those notes to my assistant. I’ll see you at staff in the morning.”

“Ice and heat on the injury site,” she says, her grin growing. “Maybe a little massage, Josh, you know. A little TLC would—“

“Good _night,_ Annabeth.” 

She only laughs a louder before heading over to get into the car with the First Lady, leaving Josh and Donna alone. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and leads her to their car, opening the door and helping her get comfortable before sliding in beside her. He lets out a big breath as their driver takes off and he grabs Donna’s hand. 

“Maybe you should be the one to see a doctor,” she notes, taking her free hand and feeling his forehead. 

“I may have had a mild coronary,” he notes off-handedly. “What do strokes feel like?”

“That’s not funny,” she mumbles and leans her head on his shoulder. She winces when she twists the wrong way. “Ow.”

“The doctor give you anything?”

She pulls a pill bottle out of her coat pocket and hands it to Josh. “I didn’t wanna take them until I got home. They make me sleepy.”

“Are you hungry? You should eat with these.”

“I want a burrito.”

He snorts and tells the driver to stop somewhere before they get home. “Anything else for the patient?” he murmurs, rubbing her shoulder soothingly. 

“Just you.” She snuggles into his side. “And maybe some french fries.”

* * *

By the time they make it upstairs to their apartment and Donna is able to get out of her damp pants, the soreness is creeping in and a slow, dull ache starts thudding against her backside. She changes into some pajamas and Josh sets up a tv tray on the bed so she can be comfortable while she eats. It isn’t until she’s well into her burrito that she sees what time it is. 

“Josh,” she asks, her mouth full. “Shouldn’t you still be at work?”

He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and stands from the bed so he can take off his suit. “No, I’m done for the day.”

She frowns. “No, you’re not. It’s only 5:30.”

He rustles around in the closet for a moment before walking back out in just his boxers and undershirt. “Donna, you’re injured. I’m off the clock.” 

“But, I’m fine. You see that I’m fine. You need to go back in. That oil spill looks nasty.”

“Lou’s on it,” he calls as he goes to the kitchen to grab her a glass of ice water. “I told her I’ll check in later, but I’m with you the rest of the night.” He sets the glass on the tray and hands her one of the pills. “Bottoms up.”

She downs the meds, still looking at him like he’s off his rocker. “Are you sure? I’m gonna be knocked out in about 10 minutes and I won’t even know if you sneak back to the office.”

Josh ignores her, just raises his eyebrows in silent question toward the burrito. She pushes the tray away, so he wraps it up for later and tosses the empty fry bag before sliding in next to her. She rolls gently, a sigh escaping her when her weight is finally off her bottom, and lays with her head on his chest as he finger combs through her hair. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell her not to send vague messages like that again. She didn’t know, Josh.”

“I know, I just—“ he holds her tighter. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

She leans back and gives him a sleepy grin, the pain pill starting to take effect. “I remember a promise of kissing it better,” she says and his dimples pop out. 

“When _don't_ I kiss your ass?” 

“I’ll settle for right here,” she murmurs and she taps her lips. He obliges, giving her a long kiss followed by a couple quick ones before leaning back and settling in. “Put on CNN,” she slurs, her eyes already closed. “You’ll need to know when you call Lou later.”

“In a minute,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down her back, content to just lay here with her and let his anxious energy finally and completely dissipate. 

No one in the new administration understands why he was acting the way he did today. Not even Sam. He wasn’t here for Gaza. He doesn’t know the absolute terror Josh felt when CJ told him what happened, and seeing that text today from Annabeth, no matter how benign she thought it was, still sent Josh right back to the Ops bullpen years ago, watching the news and seeing a flipped Suburban on the screen with Donna inside. 

He keeps his motion steady, trailing his fingers through the dips of her spine, steering clear of her lower back in case he accidentally hurts her. He closes his eyes and lets his breathing sync up with hers, banishing the thoughts of hospital rooms in Germany and focusing on here and now. She’s safe, she’s in his arms, there was no attempt of assassination. She’s just clumsy. 

Josh makes a mental note to buy her some shoes with better grips, maybe those boots with the ice spikes on the bottom, as she lets out a deep breath, officially asleep. He gives himself another minute before he kisses the top of her head again and rolls out from under her to catch up on the news and give the office a call. 

After a few hours and a couple stolen bites from her now cold burrito, Josh refills her water and climbs back in beside her. She’s still on his side of the bed, hugging his pillow in his absence, and his heart lurches in his chest. He maneuvers her gently until she’s back on his chest. 

“Josh,” she mumbles, more than half-asleep still. “We need more bananas.”

He chuckles. “Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll get you some bananas tomorrow.”

She hums and kisses his chest sleepily. “Love…” she breathes, already asleep again before she’s done talking. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, reading her mind, and kisses her forehead. He turns on the television in their bedroom, keeping the volume low, but needing a distraction from his thoughts. He flips mindlessly, not wanting anymore politicos, and he stops when he passes Singin’ in the Rain. Donna’s made him watch this a thousand times and he’d always gripe, but he secretly likes it. Something about it is comforting to him and it always reminds him of her, so he burrows down beneath the duvet, his wife snoring on top of him, and he lets Gene Kelly lull him into a calm unconsciousness. 


End file.
